A Godly Young Woman who passed through much tribulation and died at Edinburgh in 1839.
BY THE LATE REV. FRANCIS M’BEAN, FREE CHURCH, FORT-AUGUSTUS.
(Continued from page 425.)
CONVERSATIONS WITH BETSY LINDSAY.
IN the course of ten or twelve days I again called to see her. “Hail, Betsy, what of the night?”
Smilingly she said, “I am better than when you saw me; but I have had kind returns of Divine favour and sweet deliverances.”
“Say thou, Betsy, that I am a false prophet? Did not I prophesy that?”
“So you did, sir; but what I had in my mind when you said so, and left me, was, ‘That is impossible.'”
“Ah, Betsy, that was a hard speech against thyself, and cruel kindness to thy Friend, who, time after time, gave thee so many tokens of good. Well, Betsy, I see the devil has still his old witchcraft by which he bewitches the loving and dear souls of Christ, and when he infuses his doubting ingredients by some crevice or other, and lays on them his charms, he makes them not to be themselves; they get stupid, and they do and say strange things then. They are as far from being themselves under his bewitching charms as the witch of Endor’s apparition was from the true Samuel. And a strange old fool he is to the bargain, for he knows well that every instance of his crafty intermeddling will turn out to be an occasion of new gracious communications from Him who loved them with an everlasting love, which removes his bewitching influences and sets them right anew, which then grieves and galls him. It is not from ignorance that his molesting them will turn out to their good, but from his desperate wickedness, like a mighty storm, that will not allow him to let them alone. He vomited three mouthfuls upon poor Peter, and Peter was not himself in a moment. ‘Thou art the Christ,’ ‘Thou knowest that I love Thee,’ that was Peter; but under the bewitching of the old devil but for a few minutes, behold Peter is metamorphosed into a terrible swearing, lying human devil. But what followed? This occasioned a new flood of love to Peter from the Fountain of love, which soon removed the devil’s charms and healed Peter. And what did the devil gain by this trick upon poor Peter? Why, in one day Peter robbed him of a thousand souls for every mouthful of his bewitching charms. Now, Mr. Devil, ye had as well let poor Peter alone.”
“You were telling the people on Sabbath that they would not be a bit the worse of a shake in the devil’s riddle or sieve once a week. True, sir, but it is not easy to endure his unmerciful shaking, though after it is over I own the soul has not lost by it, not for him and his riddle, but from its tendency to drive the soul to Christ for security, and Christ sees to it that they shall finally be victors.”
A considerable time thereafter I saw her again, when I found her very low and dejected.
“Well, Betsy, how farest thou in those days?”
“Indeed, sir, I am in the mire, and in a fearful pit, and I think, if my former high enjoyments had not been delusion, I should not be as I am this day.”
“Hush, Betsy, hark! I hear somebody pray. I hear him say, ‘Lord, I have a messenger of Satan, a piercing, tormenting thorn from him in the flesh, buffeting me sorely, like to blow out my brains, and scatter my spiritual senses to the winds and to the bats. Rebuke him, O Lord, for Thy mercy sake, and give me speedy deliverance, or sure I am gone. The Lord rebuke thee, O Satan. Speed, Lord; I am distracted; my bones are broken. I cannot flee. Now he is done; but there he is at it again, crying the more mightily. And now again he is done; but there he is at it again, quite at his wits end.’ Oh how doleful his plaint! Sure he is under first convictions, and is as yet a stranger to peace and enjoyments. Well, even then he bids fair. What is that I hear? Somebody says, ‘You mistake the man; it is the old Christian, Paul, that is praying.’ Paul! in such a condition as that, so low, so troubled, so perplexed, so buffeted, after being in the third heaven how many days I cannot tell? Is it possible that such a favourite of Heaven should be so dejected, tormented, and buffeted by the devil, and so let within his reach? Well, granting this to be true, surely the prayers of one so highly favoured will no sooner be made, than answered, with such a terrible vengeance upon the devil as shall shake him off a thousand miles distance. What! No? Is it so; only a good promise, that though he buffets he shall not prevail, and Paul is left liable to be day after day thus browbeat so terribly? Sure, then, he’ll mangle him altogether ere all be done. ‘No, no; grace will be made sufficient for Paul, and strength will be made perfect in his weakness.’ Just so. Well, an ignorant body like me would be apt to think that if there were such love to Paul in heaven as I hear tell of, whatever should become of other poor bodies, the devil should be kept off altogether from such a high favourite as Paul seems to be; and that after he had been a visit to the third heaven, and there admitted to secrets that were not fit to be told on earth, he, after coming back again, should have no such downcasts, such distress, perplexity, and doleful plaints, as I heard him have in yon triple prayer, but unceasing comfort and joy, raised to ecstasy. Well, well, since it is so with Paul, no wonder should other poor bodies be brought low at times; and though they should, why should they hastily conclude that all former loving-kindness was a mere delusion? Sure Paul, in midst of his buffeting and downcasts, so that he forgot everybody but himself—a very rare thing with Paul,—he never once thought, because he was in such a plight, that his being in the third heaven was a mere delusive dream.’ But, Betsy, what think you of this my soliloquy?”
“I am just going to haud my tongue.”
“Seeing, then, I have got the victory over Captain Unbelief and his recruits, I leave you to your meditations.”
Some weeks thereafter, having returned to town, I called, and in conversation she asked when I was to preach again in town. In a joke I said, “If you get up and come to be a hearer, I’ll preach as soon as you like.”
“Well, sir, I fain would hear you preach.”
After thinking a little, I said I would preach in her room if she liked. We accordingly arranged that, if nothing unforeseen should prevent, I would preach in her room at six o’clock on the evening of 30th March, when she was to get her friends around her. Before retiring I asked her how often she had a locked jaw since I went to the country in June.
“Since you went to the country I have had twenty-two attacks of locked jaw, which continued from thirty hours to six days. On one occasion two days only elapsed between two attacks, each of which continued six days. I have been blind three different times since; once eight days, another twelve days, and the last time fourteen days. The time before last I was suddenly struck blind when you were speaking to me, as you may recollect.”
Having arranged on the 26th, I accordingly, on the 30th, came to her room, where I found assembled with her about twenty people. I lectured upon a few of the verses in Cant. i. with a measure of unction and freedom, and two or three days thereafter I left town for the West Highlands and Islands. On my arrival in Harris I found the following letter before me dated—
17 DALRYMPLE PLACE,
EDINBURGH, 27th April, 1836.
REV. SIR,—According to your request, I now take the pen into my hand, and most gladly would I write to you were I sure that I did not darken counsel with words without knowledge. But it is out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, and I cannot forbear telling you that I have been much comforted by the discourse I heard you preach; although I suffered much from my own wicked heart, and the temptations of the devil, from the night it was first spoken of until I heard it. They were always holding up to my mind that you would not come, you would be away some other place. But, however, I was brought to this in the morning, ‘If it be not for the glory of God, I could wish it not to be;’ and as it was the petition of Moses to God, ‘If Thy presence go not with us, carry us not up hence;’ so mine was, ‘If Thy presence be not among us, gather us not together.’ I got the promise, ‘My presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest.’ And truly it was fulfilled to my sweet experience, for as I said to you before, I had not enjoyed so much comfort from a sermon since I heard Mr. Buchanan, when the Lord was pleased to work a mighty deliverance for me. I remember that night, after I was out of the church, although the 143rd Psalm was my chief song, the 145th was also very sweet to me, and I was singing a part of it, but when I came to that verse—
‘The Lord JEHOVAH unto all
His goodness doth declare;
And over all His other works
His tender mercies are.’
I was seized with severe pain, and my body having been weakened with the distracted state of my mind, but now more so by the glories which were unfolded to my view, caused every bone in my body to shake; but oh, how light every pain seemed when God gave me the comforting evidence of my interest in Christ, and showed me my name written in the Lamb’s Book of Life, and that from all eternity. And if I am not labouring under an awful and strong delusion, I have had many sweet visits from my Lord since then, but none in which He was pleased to grant so much of His Divine presence, or the power of His Spirit, as on the 30th of March; and more than I have had to say that they felt it was a meeting to which the Lord gave much countenance. So that, however much I have been censured about it I care not, for I rejoice that ever we had such a meeting. In it God was pleased to meet and commune with me, the very chief of sinners; and although I expected every minute that my jaws would lock the very time you was speaking, as I mentioned to you before, yet I was lifted as it were above the feeling of pain by the sweet foretastes which God was giving me of that fulness of joy and of those rivers of pleasure which are at His right hand for evermore. Never did Christ appear more glorious to my soul than that night. There was one expression in your prayer from which I got such a view of the eternal love of God, and of the glories which are treasured up in Christ, that to tell you, sir, in plain words, the insight for a time was more than I could well bear; and as far as I can remember these were the words:—’That the King might bring the soul into the chambers of His love, into the chambers of His covenant, into the chambers of His sufferings.’ But oh, I had soon to come down from the mount of sensible manifestations to the howling valley, there to have my faith tried by the assaults and the temptations of the devil; and oh, how my deceitful and unbelieving heart listened to all he said, until my mind got so dark that I was ready to conclude it had not been a work of the Lord at all; but in mercy He returned to my sinking soul with that word, ‘Is this thy kindness to thy Friend? Have I been a wilderness to thee?’ And He has given me since then to draw sweet consolation from the precious legacy He left to His disciples: ‘Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you.’ Oh that I had a heart to love Him, and a tongue to praise Him, for His boundless love! What shall I render to the Lord for all His gifts to me!
I was very sorry, sir, that I had not the pleasure of seeing you again before you went away; but God often sees it needful to dry up the streams to bring us nearer to the Fountain, and it would be well if it had such a blessed effect as to drive me from the creature to my Creator.
Mr. M’Dougald, whom you saw here, said he never felt so much at parting with any person as he did to part with you; but he said he was made to say, ‘The will of the Lord be done.’ I was just saying to him, Who knows but the Lord may have a work for you here, and He may make you the instrument in His hand of ploughing up the ground which has been so long trodden down, and cause a stirring among the dry bones. I heard the other day of two persons having been deeply convicted under the preaching of Mr. Buchanan; the one is a man, and the other a woman. The man, some years ago, had defrauded another of sixty pounds, and he has returned it to him in a note, saying, ‘This is yours.’ The woman has also defrauded her mistress of a great deal, and she went and told her of it, saying she was sorry she could not pay all, but she would restore what she could. Oh that the impressions may be saving, to the glory of free grace! Oh for a revival of the good work of God in Edinburgh! Oh for the building up of Zion! ‘Wilt Thou not revive us again, O Lord, that Thy people may rejoice in Thee?’
But I must conclude. I am afraid I will wear out your patience by a multitude of words. I trust this will find you in good health, busily employed in the Lord’s work; and may He bless your labours with a shower of His Spirit. Remember me in your prayers; and when you write will you be so kind as send me a few of the remarks you had upon that text, ‘Go forth, ye daughters of Zion, and behold King Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his espousals, and in the day of the gladness of his heart.’—I remain, Rev. Sir, your unworthy servant,
ELIZABETH LINDSAY.
P.S.—I should not have troubled you with a letter so soon, but I think I shall soon lose my sight. I am just much the same as when you left me, but my left hand, in which I had no power, has been these some days as if it had been bound with a hot iron, and the most of my body is getting into the same state, but I have no more strength in it.”
Hearing and Praying.
Mr. Philip Henry notes in his diary the saying of a pious hearer of his own, as what much affected him:—”I find it easier,” said the good man, “to go six miles to hear a sermon, than to spend one quarter of an hour in meditating and praying over it in secret, as I should, when I come home.”